


God of Trade

by lameafpun



Category: Immortals Fenyx Rising (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Object Insertion, Spit As Lube, Throne Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: Typhon was, as many higher beings were, narcissistic. "Perfection" this, "perfection" that. Hermes discovers how far that goes.Or: hermes steals a thing from typhon and typhon steals his ass (i’m so sorry i’ve fallen into monster fucking hell)
Relationships: Hermes/Typhon (Immortals Fenyx Rising)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	God of Trade

Hermes had his vices. He was the god of thievery and commerce and the thieving of said commerce once in a blue moon. Okay, once in a regular moon. It was him, his being, and as good as he had been lately, things were getting a little stressful what with the potential end of the world and the fate of near the entire pantheon in the hands of one little mortal who’d been entirely unblooded before this debacle. So, yes, he indulged. A little.

And maybe he should have chosen a different target. Maybe. He’d grant that inside his own head. But Typhon wasn’t being very fun about things and the big hunk — lunk! he meant lunk! (oh never mind, yes he did mean hunk. The world was ending but he still had eyes) — deserved to lose something precious. And the carved marble box, gilded with gold and studded with precious stones, he’d found in Typhon’s throne room ticked all the boxes of “important thing Typhon would probably hate to lose.”

Oo, he wondered if he’d be able to hear Typhon’s enraged roars from the Hall of the Gods?

Snickering, he slid it out from beneath the throne.

“Little thief.”

 _Zeus save me_.

Hermes swallowed. The cold of the throne room’s stone floor felt a few degrees colder than it had been moments before and he will deny to the day of his unmaking that his hands shake at that low, growly tone.

He stands with a flourish, tucking the little box underneath the hem of his toga and into the convenient pocket he has for stolen — uh, _repurposed_ goods.

“A baseless accusation!”

Typhon is suddenly standing right behind him, clawed fingers digging into his skin as a booming, mocking laugh reverberates in his ears. And he’s human sized. Relatively. He still towered over Hermes.

“Then what is it that you have secreted under your tunic, little thief?”

Hermes scoffs, would flip his hair over his shoulder but Typhon had both of his arms held behind his back.

“Nothing but myself.” He says. The “I’m looking down my nose at you” look he and Aphrodite had perfected together lost much of its effectiveness when he had to bend his neck back painfully just to meet Typhos’s lava red eyes. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me.”

He feels the pull, the whisper-y tickle of the golden glow across his skin that would spirit him back to the Hall. It is a familiar feeling and Hermes doesn’t hold back his smug grin as the glow sweeps up his feet.

Typhon’s grasp on his wrists tightens. An icy sensation spread through his body, radiating out from Typhon’s touch, and the familiar golden glow is washed from his body like it’s nothing more than errant glitter.

Hermes laughs nervously. “Ah, do not tell me even the great Typhon is so susceptible to my charms?”

Typhon looks down at him. It’s a considering sort of look, evaluating.

“Do you know what you took, thief?”

“Well, hypothetically, if I had taken something - and I’m not saying I did - I would have gone for the most valuable looking thing in the room. Shiniest. You know, the things that suit me.”

“And you were not curious?”

Even with the nervous cold sweat breaking out across his skin, he shrugs. “To be honest the hypothetical treasure just looked like a jewelry box. So. Necklaces maybe? Although I did not take you for a jewelry type.”

Typhon nods. “I am not.”

“You do seem like the kind to like crowns, though. Though I imagine getting one to fit would be another matter entirely but, you know. Not everyone is fit for one.”

If Hermes thought that Typhon’s grip was tight before it was crushing now. Had he been mortal, the grip would’ve snapped his hands clean off.

“A-ah.” He winces, covers it over with a smirk. “Touchy, are we?” 

Typhon snarls in his face, fangs bared and close enough to brush his lips against.

“Little thief.”

“I admit nothing!”

Typhon shoves his hand up the hem of his tunic and roots around indelicately, the snarl turning cruelly pleased as Hermes squirms. He will stand by the assertion that perizoma was for lesser, mortal beings but maybe he could maybe somewhat see the appeal now. At least for binding things he would rather not be left vulnerable in a hostile environment.

He’s breathing a little heavier when Typhos gets his claws on the bejeweled marble container. Typhon wedges a claw under the top of it, pops it off and lets the cover clatter to the floor like it wasn’t one of the more valuable things Hermes had come across, and lowers it so he can see.

“You are not curious?”

Hermes shakes his head, shaking away all of his indecent thoughts and looks. He has to blink.

“ . . . An . . . olisbos?” It’s long, thick, tapered at the tip and knotted at the base. There are also very interesting bumps that run up and down the shaft in a pattern Hermes would like to describe as aesthetically pleasing if he wasn’t also profoundly confused. “Why?”

“What, you don’t see the resemblance?” Typhon almost sounds disappointed.

“You said it, not me.” A thought occurs to him. “Wait - “

Typhon was narcissistic, but surely he wasn’t that much so.

“You do not deserve my perfection.” Typhon says, like he’d come to a decision. Apparently, yes, he was that narcissistic. Oo, if the world didn’t end (and if he lived through this encounter) he was telling Aphrodite about this for sure. “But I am kind.”

“Kind? I think we have very different definitions of _kind_.”

Typhon snarled.

 _Too easy to frustrate_ , Hermes thought.

A few of the box’s precious stones were knocked off when it fell. Hermes felt a little sad at its desecration. It really was quite beautiful.

“Oh n - ”

Typhon took advantage of his open mouth to pop the tip of the olisbos past his lips. Hermes jerked his head back, teeth clacking against the material. It tasted like leather. In the back of his mind, he wonders how Typhon managed to shape it so precisely with material like that.

“What - !”

“You were so interested in it, I thought it only right to let you see. Of course,” Typhon picks him up like he’s nothing, gropes him with the hand supporting his bottom. “You may find the real thing much more interesting.”

The giant sinks onto his throne, turns Hermes so the god’s back is facing his chest, and lets him drop into his lap. He doesn’t let go of his hands, though. Hermes can feel that gaze burning the top of his head. Even sitting the giant was still, well, giant.

“Real - “ He chokes. There is suddenly something pressing up against him, something that was not there before. He tries to glance down but a harsh tug at his hands has him more focused on the strain in his muscles. Typhos went around nude, where did he hide it? And by the gods, maybe it was just because he couldn’t look at it, but it felt thick. Why would he hide it?

“Since you wanted it so much, little thief, you can have it.”

“ _Hypothetically_ , I didn’t even get to look —“ That’s the last word he gets out before the olisbos is slipped between his lips. Maybe he should’ve though more about using words with that long “oo” sound — it provided an almost insultingly neat entrance.

Hermes tries to jerk back again. He ends up knocking his head against Typhon’s chest, giving him a good look at the way the god’s lips are wrapped around the mold of his own cock. How he accidentally grinds back against Typhon’s hardness makes it worse. Hermes isn’t sure if it’s him that’s doing that or the thought that Typhon has brought another god low in an entirely new, excitingly different way.

“You are better this way, little thief.” Typhon smirks. Hermes wishes he could say something. Something scathing and lasting, maybe about the irregular way the giant’s hand thrusts the olisbos past his lips, the way all four eyes are intent on the leather that disappears into his mouth and down his throat. Hermes doesn’t gag. He wonders what the bulge in his throat looks like, if Typhon can see all the bumps on the olisbos imprinted against his skin. “Much, much better. And silent.”

Thoughts are beginning to slip from Hermes’ mind. He almost doesn’t register the shifting of the giant’s muscles, rippling beneath him. The olisbos leaves his mouth with an outpouring of drool that slips down his chin, splatters on the neckline of his tunic and runs down his neck to soak into the narrow cloth strip of his necklace. A clawed hand swipes over his drool drenched chin. Muscled, burgundy legs move him so his knees are braced against Typhon’s. Typhon spreads his legs, spreads Hermes, and with the height difference Hermes is practically in a split.

“My voice is angelic.” Hermes says roughly.

Typhon growls lowly, like that will stop him from talking.

“And I am always my best — “

He does not squeak as Typhon lets his arm go slack, lets Hermes’ upper body pitch forward until he’s folded in half and leaning out of Typhon’s lap. His shoulders groan as Typhon lifts his hands behind his back.

“I am not unkind.” There’s a wet sound, skin on skin, and Hermes feels mildly relieved.

The neckline of his tunic is pulled back tight against his throat. Then, the sound of cloth ripping and the cold throne room air hits his overheated skin. Typhon yanks it away, tosses it to the floor with a huff, and lets Hermes’s arms lower.

“There’s still a wide range between kind and unk—“ The olisbos is shoved back into his mouth as the original prods at Hermes’ hole. Drool starts dripping down his chin again. He squirms. His own erection is bobbing, smearing precum against his stomach.

“Oh? Is the puny god impatient?”

Hermes had taken Typhon as a rough kind of lover, had prepared himself for a sudden entry that pushed his guts out of place, made him bite, made tears comes to his eyes. His teeth were already braced on the leather. It seemed fitting that, instead, Typhon would use his grip on Hermes’ hands to pull him down onto his cock slowly, spitefully. That firey gaze Hermes was slowly growing more accustomed to bored into him as the giant forced his back to arch as he split the god on his cock, bent him into a position that pushed him to his limits. He’s been naked before but this was downright exposing. It was Typhon forcing him to put his body on display.

Hermes wants to tug his legs close, to give his cock a taste of friction. Of course, Typhon laughs at his attempts to free his lower half.

“Pathetic.”

Around the leather, Hermes grumbles.

“Like a yapping puppy begging it’s master for a bone.” He’s still pulling Hermes down, filling him as far as he can. Still gently, still slowly, imprinting the bumpy pattern on his cock against the god’s insides, until it widens. Hermes knows what it is, crosses his eyes to look at the matching section on the olisbos. The knot. He swallows and can’t tell whether it’s nerves or excitement.

“This is the great Hermes?” Typhon says, having seen the glint in the god’s eyes. “Writhing on the cock of your pantheon’s downfall?”

The giant had stopped pulling, satisfied for the moment to watch Hermes let himself adjust. Nothing but cruelty had ever shined in those eyes burning like magma, but it’s a different kind of frantic sadism that bleeds into the giant’s actions.

“If I had not caught you myself I could mistake you for one of the Erotes.”

Hermes thinks Typhon had meant that to be insulting. Joke’s on him, his nephews are awesome.

“ _Pathetic_.” Typhon snarls. Hermes wants to roll his eyes and ask Typhon if he’s going to cum to the sound of his own voice, but the muscles in Typhon’s thighs bunch and the giant is pounding into him mercilessly.

His earlier instinct about Typhon being a harsh lover wasn’t entirely wrong. The giant fucks into him like he’s nothing but a cocksleeve there for his pleasure, there for him to bend to his will. He doesn’t even try to make it pleasurable for Hermes. Every jolt of pleasure that jolts through Hermes’ body, every thrust that glances against his prostate, is nothing more than a happy accident.

A shaky rhythm develops. Typhon is losing himself, snarling savagely at the sensation of Hermes wrapped around him, and he’s given up on thrusting the olisbos down Hermes’ throat. Instead, he’s clapped his hand against the god’s mouth. The knot presses against Hermes’ lips. Still, Hermes can feel release building in his gut.

Typhon stops thrusting, lets his hands go. It’s barely a second of freedom. Before Hermes could even think about acting on it, Typhon has his wrists secure in his grip, pressed to Hermes’ front, and he stands in a smooth motion. Legs freed, Hermes clenches them together and shudders. Skin against skin - his own, but it feels like ambrosia. Precum and drool drips onto the throne room floor. Hermes can barely reach said floor; his toes brush against the stone.

Typhon growls, grinds his cock into Hermes’ ass in short, circular movements. Hermes nearly forgets what that entails before the knot starts to breach him.

“Your divinity is a joke.” Typhon grunts. “A divine fucktoy you may be, but nothing else. _Nothing_.”

The knot sinks into Hermes, stretching him. It’s a slow process, much like the way he took the shaft, and after he’s gotten adjusted Typhon is using him like he’d nothing but a warm hole.

Nothing but heavy breathing and the occasional “pathetic” leaves Typhon’s lips. Hermes is far more vocal, even muffled, and he grows louder as Typhon’s hips slap against his.

“An attendant, perhaps.” Typhon growls. “You would mar my perfection but even _you_ could be fixed.”

He clenches around Typhon. The giant snarls, and thrusts into Hermes as waves of warmth flood the god’s hole ( _ha,_ Hermes thinks, _he did cum to the sound of his own voice_ ). 

Hermes still very much doesn’t want the world to end, so he doesn’t know what it means when he cums at that.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by the line in-game "You do not deserve my perfection. But I am kind." also Hermes' klepto tendencies. also uh dirtymindedness and porny set up plots. that's literally it. 
> 
> also uh the title - look, idk if i'm using it right but hermes is a twink and he's also the god of commerce so it fits i think


End file.
